This week's photo is a photoshopping image of the Monticello Dam drain hole. And is in so many places on the internet I can not track the creator. The drain hole is the largest in the world, and located in northern California. (This funnel-shaped outlet, allows water to bypass the dam when it reaches capacity, as it swallows a rate of 48,400 cubic feet per second.)
I liked the perspective this image offered, both literally and metaphorically. I'm interested to see what others will make of it.
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The End
Chloe had
had enough. She couldn’t handle another day like this. She hated it here: the
fakeness, the surface chatter, the ‘keeping up with the Jones’ they all did, the
friendship cliques. She couldn’t stand it. She had tried intellectual
conversation with them, but they would look at her blankly. They weren’t book
readers; they weren’t deep thinkers; they weren’t creative. They spent their
days focusing on the day to day trivia of life, and particularly that of their
neighbours!
Living here
was not for Chloe. But if she went back to where she had come from there was also
nothing, just a bunch of bad memories. She’d be starting from scratch too. She
had neither the energy nor the cash to do that. But staying here was a pit of
nothingness too: emotionally dead, empty, a sinkhole that was sucking the life
out of her.
She lay
there on bridge looking up at the sky, imagining the abyss her life had become.
She pondered the same question that always came up: how to change it? She
couldn’t go back; she couldn’t stay here in the present, so she had to create a
future. She had to move forward. But to where? And would it be any better
there? – Would it be any better anywhere?
She had
lived in so many places, tried so many things, and still she came to this
point: bored, empty, lonely and disconnected. And was the lack of connection
them or her? Was she doing something wrong? Was it all her, as so many
indicated? Too intense, too deep, too real – that’s what they kept on telling
her. Too open, too talkative, too keen – none of it won her any friendships.
She was tired of trying, and believing there were people out there like her.
She was tired of telling herself she just need to find the ‘right people’. She
had started to believe that there were no ‘right’ people – she was just wrong.
She had no
ties, she had no commitments (short of her job), and she had no connections
holding her in one place. She used to be thrilled by that idea: free to go
where she wanted, when she wanted and how she wanted. But the thrill had worn
off. She felt like she was drifting, like a fish in a strong current trying to
stay in one place. She wanted to feel connected, needed, valued. But she no
longer believed it would happen in this lifetime.
Then came
the next thought; one that went through her mind more often than it should:
“Who would miss her if she was gone?” She couldn’t think of one single person.
There was no family, no friends to speak of – although a few might be sad
initially but it would be short lived. And people might wonder why, but really
it wouldn’t matter what they wondered, she wouldn’t be here to care about it.
Chloe
rolled over onto her front and looked down at the water. It churned and roiled,
throwing up its rage at being pushed around by the sides of the river and the
boulders in its midst. It foamed, and spat great white plumes into the air, the
recent heavy rains swelling it, testing its patience as it rushed along. You
could try and swim in it, but it would pull you under, bend you to its will,
and Chloe had never been a strong swimmer, never had official lessons.
She knew if
she thought about it for too long it wouldn’t happen, so she pushed herself
forward until her torso was over the edge of the bridge, and under the bottom
rung of the wooden side protectors. She let her upper body drop over, enjoying
the thrill of the rushing water underneath.
She paused, wondering if she could do it, but then felt her bottom cheeks brush
the underside of the wood panel above and her weight shift forward. A moment of
panic rushed through her as she attempted to grab at the edge above her, but
the movement caused a further shift and before she knew it she was tumbling and
hitting freezing water.
The last
thing Chloe St. James registered was the sensation of being churned like she
was in a giant washing machine. Then her head hit against something and she was
gone.
